


Somewhere in Neverland

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: America(ish) AU, College AU for like two seconds for Luke and Niall, M/M, band au, broken friendship are mended, redemption fic in a way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:01:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he knows was that he felt angry and small and patronized, and he'd just grabbed his guitar case and stood up. He doesn't remember walking out, but he does remember the street that raced ahead of him, into the distance. He remembers Michael's house at his back, and the sickening, nauseating feeling, the knowledge that he wasn't going to come back. That now, he couldn't come back. </p><p>(Or, if Luke quit the band before it ever began, and moves to America for university, where he meets Niall and Ashton. And, maybe, just maybe--there's such thing as a second chance, and love at second sight.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Luke's fingers feel chapped and stiff, and he blames it entirely on the cold wind snapping around the street corner today.

It's blowing softly, just softly enough that he doesn't have to worry about the green dollar bills flapping around in his guitar case, but it's also enough to burn his ears with cold. He lets go of his guitar for a second to readjust his beanie, and then he's good to go again.

Luke probably should have known better than to busk in the North American winter, but his flatmate had scraped their refrigerator bare, and they didn't have the cash to stop by the supermarket.

Still, Luke probably should have made Niall actually go out for once and _do_ something.

All he does is drink Guinness and complain about football teams and how bad he is at Fifa.

Stupid Irish people.

 

Luke sighs, and hoists up the guitar again.

He's made out pretty well for the cold weather--people had been kind and generous with money, and that's good because Luke _really_ wants to get some Lucky Charms.

 

He presses his fingers down on the strings, and they're so chapped that it cuts into his left index finger, dropping a bead of blood down on his A string.

Luke groans. He's _so_ gonna make Niall pay for this later _._

 

Then again, it is Niall who got him the stupid guitar in the first place.

He'd been missing it like crazy ever since moving to the United States for Uni, and so for his birthday Niall got him the dingy guitar. It was scrubbed with dirt, and the strings had been loose and made dull, unattractive sounds, but Niall had sworn it gave the guitar _character_. Luke hadn't even complained, because it was the best Niall could afford and he'd missed it way too much to be picky.

 

He strums a mindless chord progression. There's no one on the streets to impress anyway, and he feels so sore and achy.

North American university was the worst idea Luke had had in a long time.

 

Still, the United States _was_ very pretty.

Lights in all the nearby shops were warm and twinkling, almost as if to fight the gray mist settling in the sky. Brown leaves scuttle across the pavement, making dry scratching sounds that somehow comfort Luke. Novembers in Australia was the beginning of the transition to summer; he and Cal and Mikey would be down at the beach, admiring the waves and trying to pick up girls.

November here was the winter, cold and crisp and pretty in the stainless steel colors of the sky, the forlorn promises of snow that haven't come yet.

(Luke would like it better if it wasn't so damn _cold._ )

 

He keeps strumming the same progression over and over again.

Eventually, he realizes it's the tune of _Somewhere Over the Rainbow._

He smiles to himself, a little bitterly.

 

 _No place like home,_ he thinks.

(Too bad he's not really sure where that is anymore.)

***

When Luke gets back to the flat, Niall's exactly where he left him.

That is to say, surrounded by empty beer cans and cursing at someone on their Xbox. (It's something Niall had bought when they first moved into the apartment together, and possibly the only new thing in the entire place.)

 

Luke drops off his guitar in his room, and throws the groceries onto the counter-top. "I'm starting to worry about you, Niall," Luke says.

Niall takes out one of his earbuds. "What'd ya say, mate?" he asks, taking a quick swig from a beer can.

Luke winces. "That _cannot_ be good for your liver."

"My mum filled my baby bottles with beer instead of milk," Niall says. "I'll be fine."

"Again, not good for your liver."

"Not according to my mum!"

"Yeah," Luke says. "Not sure your mum's totally right about that."

Niall gasps, before pressing buttons down on his controller in quick succession. "Sacrilege, Luke!" Niall screeches. "Absolute heresy!"

"Sorry for making sure you don't die before fifty!" Luke says, turning back to the groceries. He starts to take out the cartons and bottles, putting them in the fridge.

"At least if I go out, I'm going out with my one true love!" Niall argues.

Luke rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"And you," Niall says, "are insulting my love affair with beer. It's real, Luke. I'm offended at your accusations."

Luke finishes up putting the groceries away, and walks out to the living room.

"Have you even moved since I left?" Luke asks, sitting on the arm of the couch. Niall doesn't even look up from his game of Fifa. 

"Not my fault you're a busybody," Niall says. "I'm satisfied with _my_ life."

"I was making sure we wouldn't starve!"

"We still had beer," Niall points out.

Luke feels like laughing. Or punching a wall. "Niall. You are the epitome of Irish stereotypes. Get your own personality."

Niall yells in victory as his team wins, and jumps up. That's about the time that Luke notices that he's not wearing pants.

Or boxers.

"Oh my god, I'm getting a new roommate."

Niall pouts. "You love me."

"I'm leaving again," Luke says. "When I come back, pretend you're _not_ beer-manic, and actually get some pants on. Or a towel. I don't fucking care. Figure out how to be an adult."

"Someone's grumpy."

"I cannot deal with you," Luke says. "So I'm leaving. And never coming back. I'll go to Ireland and tell your family that you're a disgrace."

Niall snickers, and Luke leaves before he punches the wall, or Niall, or himself.

***

He finds himself in a bar.

Which, really, is kind of ironic, considering that he'd just been yelling at Niall for drinking.

So sue him for being a hypocrite.

 

He should probably be studying for the major test in chemistry that he has in two days, but there's something in the air.

It's like it's buzzing, tingling. Like it knows that something's gonna happen, something to him, and he's just waiting.

 

 

Maybe he's just crazy.

Could be that too.

 

He orders a refill from the bartender, and drums his fingers against the counter.

The bar is mostly empty, and Luke figures that it's because it's just a normal Monday night. Plus, this isn't the most high-end place. The bar and tables are made of that cheap waxy wood, and most stools have a chronic wobble. Still, it was his favorite place to go, mostly because he didn't know anyone who went here, and it was just a few blocks from the flat.

He could wallow in peace, here.

 

Not that he's a wallow-er.

Because he's not.

He's going to uni, and he has a place to live, and he had a perfectly loving family in Australia that was whole and lovely.

He's aware of how fortunate he is, all things considered. Come on, he's a _white male._ He _knows._

 

And yet.

There's just something in his heart that feels wrong.

Which sounds both like a crappy line of poetry and a medical concern, but.

It's Michael and Calum's fault, he's sure of it.

 

He just misses them.

They were his best friends. They'd grown up together. It had gotten to a point where he'd known them better than his own brothers, and.

At the end of it all, it was just him, sitting here.

 

He knew that it was at least partially his fault.

He'd never been good with dreams. He;d always wanted something solid, something _real,_ and when Calum and Michael had asked him if he'd wanted to form a band, he'd said yes.

But he never thought it was going to go anywhere.

 

Luke got the scholarship to the American college six months later.

 

 _"You can't go to America, Luke,"_ Michael had said, almost condescendingly. _"You just can't._ _"_

Luke had frowned. _"Why not?"_

 _"The band,_ _"_ Michael said. _"Everything. Us. Come on, you're not seriously considering this."_

 _"So what if I am?"_ Luke asked. _"Michael, I can't stay in a garage dreaming about being in a band. It's a great opportunity--"_

 _"Why_ can't _you?"_ Michael's voice had gotten dangerously quiet. _"Calum gave up his football scholarship for this. I dropped out of school for this. It's us three against the rest of the world, Luke, come on."_

Luke swallowed. _"No one asked you guys to make those sacrifices."_

He remembers the looks on both of their faces at that. Calum, who had previously been almost deathly quiet, said, _"So, what, you're going?"_ His voice had sounded blank. Robotic.

Luke froze. _"I don't know."_

 

Everything between the three of them had suddenly become taut, tense. Because Michael had the hot temper, the kind that exploded and left debris in his wake, but Calum--he was cold. Calculating. Get him angry, and there would be nothing but ashes left.

 _"Luke,"_ Michael said, _"This is our dream. You can't give it up just to have something guaranteed."_

 _"What if that's what I_ need, _Michael?"_ Luke had asked. _"You and Calum--you guys can survive on dreams. I can't."_

 _"So you think you're better than us,"_ Calum reasoned. His voice was harsh, and Luke winced.

_"No, come on--you guys are being completely unreasonable--"_

_"This is our dream you're giving up on Luke. Your dream,"_ Michael warned.

 

And that's when Luke had exploded.

 

 _"Did you guys_ ever _consider that I'm not you two? Huh? Maybe I can't deal in uncertainties. Maybe I really want this. And if I do, then you guys are holding me back. Okay? If you really cared about me, you'd let me_ go. _You'd let me make my own decisions!"_

 _"We're a_ band, _Luke,_ _"_ Michael had snarled right back at him. _"_ _Every fucking decision you make affects us, and you're just breaking us up for something you don't really want."_

 _"How do you know what I want, Michael?"_ Luke had asked quietly. _"You're not my fucking mother--no, not even my mother has the audacity to make my own fucking decisions."_

Michael fell suddenly silent, but Luke had felt rage bubbling in his veins, poisoning his heart.

_"I don't--I don't need you. I chose you. I chose you both, and--and I'm in control of my own fucking life. If I want to leave, I leave, is that understood?"_

_"Then it's understood that once you leave, you can't come back,"_ Calum had said conversationally.

Luke paled, and stayed still. His heart nearly stopped beating.

 _"Yeah,"_ Calum had said, almost conversationally. _"I thought so."_

And then Luke saw red.

 

He doesn't remember what happened after, really.

All he knows was that he felt angry and small and patronized, and he'd just grabbed his guitar case and stood up. He doesn't remember walking out, but he does remember the street that raced ahead of him, into the distance. He remembers Michael's house at his back, and the sickening, nauseating feeling, the knowledge that he wasn't going to come back. That now, he _couldn't_ come back.

 

And he remembers missing it. Already, not even thirty seconds later, he could feel something tearing at his chest.

 

Even now, Luke thinks that there's nothing more devastating than that feeling. The knowledge that you left, and you can't come back, and you regret every second of it.

It's a whole new kind of missing that never heals, and Luke's pretty sure he knows that now.

That kind of knowledge always comes too late.

***

The next day was the beginning of everything.

 

Luke had gotten bored of everything, and his slight hangover was making him cranky, so much so that Niall left the house, muttering something about 'coming back when the Grinch has left'.

So, he pulled on a beanie and his shoes and wandered off, not really thinking about anything.

Which is probably how he found himself outside a CD store.

 

It didn't look cool, or authentic, or--like anything, really.

The building was made of solid brown brick, and it had a bright blue awning over the door that advertised the name of the store-- "Al's CD and Record Shoppe!"

(It actually did spell 'shop' like 'shoppe'. Luke winced on Al's behalf.)

Some of the glass windows displayed dusty guitars, and there were posters advertising local bands and singers. A neon sign hanging over the door read "OPEN!" and the 'e' was more faded than the other letters.

 

All in all, almost abrasively normal.

But Luke really didn't have anything better to do, so he opened the shop door anyway.

 

The first thing that Luke notices is that it smells stale.

Like old air and vinyl, but it's just familiar enough that Luke doesn't really mind.

It's dark, and there's a few people milling around, but the boy behind the counter perks up when Luke walks in, standing up straight and smiling straight at Luke.

 

And, well, Luke would feel uncomfortable at being singled out like that, but.

The boy's kinda cute.

 

Not in the way that Luke would be _attracted_ to him or anything--but, he reminds Luke of a puppy.

He's got really bright green eyes, and a mop of curls that fall all over his face without meaning to. He's got these big dimples that stretch open as he smiles at Luke. He's wearing an All Time Low t-shirt with too many holes in it, but Luke appreciates his taste in music.

Without even realizing it, Luke walks right up to him. Which--okay, that's got to look creepy, but the boy just smiles wider, if that's even _possible._

"Hey," Luke says, "um. I was wondering if you could, uh, tell me where the, uh, Good Charlotte vinyls are kept?"

"Oh, it's listed alphabetically," the boy says easily. "Just go over to the vinyl section and search in the 'G' section."

"Well," Luke says, "that would make logical sense, so. Um. Thanks."

He starts to wander over the the vinyl section, feeling mildly embarrassed, when the boy's voice comes from behind him. "I'm Ashton," he says.

Luke turns around. Ashton's staring at him expectantly.

"Oh, that's, uh, cool," Luke says.

Ashton blinks. "See, this is where you tell me your name."

"Oh! Right," Luke says. "Sorry, I'm Luke."

Ashton breaks into another smile. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Luke," he says. "Mind telling me what an Australian boy is doing in Maryland in November?"

"Going to school," Luke says. "Or you could call it building my own coffin. I kind of prefer the second one."

Ashton laughs. "Nice," he says. "What are you studying?"

Luke shrugs. "Science, at the moment," he says. "I'm pretty good at maths."

Ashton nods. "That's cool. I just work at a CD store and pretend I know where my life's going."

Luke smiles at that. "Aren't we all? Oh, hey, I love your shirt by the way."

 

Ashton's eyes become so bright they could be spotlights. "You like All Time Low?"

"Duh," Luke says. "They're _amazing._ "

"What's your favorite song?"

" _Somewhere in Neverland,_ " Luke says automatically.

"That's one of my favorites," Ashton says, nodding. "I really like _Lost in Stereo_ and _Coffee Shop Soundtrack._ "

"Yeah, those are super good," Luke says.

"Oh, hey, if you like those guys, there's this new band on the rise that's playing at the General Venue next weekend," Ashton says. "I've only heard a couple of their songs, but I think they've got some talent."

"Oh, really?" Luke asks, intrigued.

"Yeah...hold on," Ashton says, starting to rifle around under the counter. After a couple seconds, he resurfaces, a flyer clutched in his hand.

"Here," Ashton says, handing it to Luke.

Luke stares down at the flyer, and his heart drops.

 

There, sandwiched between two guys with matching haircuts, are two people he knows too well.

He had to admit, tattoos worked well on Calum, and Michael looked great with purple hair.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Luke really hadn't meant to go the concert.

He'd gotten home, 96% sure that he was not, _not_ putting himself through that kind of pain.

He'd purposely left the flyer crumpled up in a corner near his bed, just so that Niall wouldn't find it. And he'd tried to forget about it.

It was just a really unfortunate coincidence, and one that he wouldn't even have to participate in if he didn't want to. Really, Luke was proud of Calum and Michael for getting this far. It was good that he was wrong, in the end.

 

He hadn't meant to go. But Liam invited Niall out on that Saturday, and even though Luke was 73% sure that he wasn't going to go to that stupid concert, he'd just pulled on his jeans and his beanie and smoothed out the flyer.

 

It only cost Luke twenty dollars to get into the show, and even though it wasn't sold out by the time that Luke got there, it was standing room only.

So he stood in the very back, where it was dark and dim, and he had limited visibility. He pulled the beanie down farther, and leaned against one of the brick walls.

 

Soon, lights punched on and a sort-of quiet fell across the crowd. There were whispers and shuffling and sniffling and coughing, but one of the guys Luke doesn't know steps out on stage and everyone cheers loudly.

Luke's breath catches in his throat, and he shoves his hands deep in his hoodie pockets. Something lights up in the pit of Luke's stomach, and he doesn't know if it's jealousy or pride or _what,_ but it churns, leaving an aching feeling.

He doesn't want to see them. He doesn't want to see them. He doesn't want to see them--

Michael walks out after the other guy, and Luke closes his eyes and leans against the brick wall and wonders why he's doing this to himself.

***

_"He hates me," Luke protests, as Calum drags him closer to the house with the blue door and lopsided stoop._

_"You can't know that for_ sure _," Calum argues calmly._

_"Yes, I can," Luke says, gripping his backpack straps so hard his knuckles turn white. "I've been his neighbor for, like, at least ten years. I really, really can."_

_He glances back longingly. His house is literally just across the street. It wouldn't be hard to just run, and--_

 

_The blue door opens, and he's there, glaring lightly at Calum and Luke. "Are you coming in, or not?" Michael asks. He sounds extremely put-upon._

_"No," Luke says, at the same time Calum says, "Yes."_

_Michael steps to the side, letting them in. Calum drags Luke closer to the door._

_"Please don't make me do this," Luke says quietly._

_"He doesn't bite," Calum promises._

_Luke swallows thickly, and looks up at Michael. His eyes are dark and covered, and hands are balled into fists._

_"Are you sure about that?"_

***

They're good.

Of course they're good--Luke never doubted that fact. He's seen how much talent Calum and Michael really have, and it's really not a shock that they're this good.

And, well, Luke may be biased, but it does seem like Calum and Michael are carrying the whole band. The guys with the matching haircuts seem bored most of the time, and while they were adept with their instruments, they didn't have the fire Calum and Michael did. The passion.

Luke's chest hurts a little at the end of the concert, but he ignores that.

 

They play their last song--something called _Try Hard,_ that Luke knows Calum had been working on when he'd still been in the band--and it ends with the venue erupting in cheers.

Michael smiles wide, and steps up to his microphone. "Thank you!" he says. "Thank you, American music fans are _great._ Um, if you guys want to, like, talk to us or anything, we'll be hanging around a little while, so thanks!"

Most of the crowd surges forward, but Luke ducks out. He isn't in any mood to talk to them again. Besides, they'd probably...

Well. Luke wasn't sure what would happen, actually. He doesn't think he particularly wants to find out, either.

 

He's almost to the exit, when a voice shouts out, "Luke!"

His heart jumps up to his throat, and he whirls around.

 

It's only Ashton.

Only Ashton. Luke sighs a breath of relief, and says, "Oh, hey!"

Ashton grins, and says, "How'd you like the concert?"

Luke swallows. "They're really good. Not that I was surprised by that, but, uh. Thanks for tipping me off."

Ashton smiles. "Are you gonna stick around?"

"Um," Luke says. "No."

"Why? I mean, it's cool, we could talk to them. They seem like really cool guys, actually--"

"Yeah," Luke says. "They do, I just...have to get home. My flatmate just texted me, seems really drunk. Lots of typos, too many winky faces--you know how it is. He's Irish. So, I'll have to go, but, um, thank you for letting me know and I'll probably stop by the music store soon. Bye!"

"Bye...?" Ashton says, somewhat bemused by Luke's ramblings, but he's already slipped out the door, breathing fast and half-running away from the General Venue.

***

_The first time Luke sees Michael, he's four and still thinks that Power Rangers is a good show._

_The house across the street had been up for sale for as long as Luke could remember (which wasn't much, but still) and for the past few weeks, his mum and dad had been talking excitedly about the new people coming to live right next to them.  
_

_And then, one morning, Luke woke up to see a huge white truck and a little boy waddling around with his own mum and dad, and Luke had almost dragged his own mum and dad across the street to meet them._

 

_His mum had just laughed at Luke's insistence, and introduced herself to the other mum as 'Liz' (which was the name other grownups called her. Weird.) Dad went and started talking to the other man about stupid things, like how the weather was today._

_Luke marched determinedly over to Michael, and stuck out his hand, like he'd seen plenty of other grownups do to each other. "'m Luke," Luke said proudly. "What's your name?"_

 

_The other boy stared at him. He had feathery blond hair and watery eyes, and he looks a little like the princess that fell asleep and didn't wake up for a hundred whole years and was plenty beautiful._

_"C'mon," Luke said, smiling a little. "What's your name?"_

_The other boy smiles shyly. "Michael," he says quietly._

_"Well, Michael," Luke says, "we're gonna be best friends from now on."_

***

Luke would like to say that the concert was the last time he ever saw Michael and Calum.

He'd like to say that he went on with his life, and they went on with theirs, and they never saw each other again.

Luke went on to do something boring but steady with maths or science, and Mike and Cal were moderately successful musicians, and everything was okay for each of them without any kind of overlap.

 

But, no, instead Michael had to practically tackle Luke on the street and spill hot coffee _all over him._

 

Luke was honestly walking down the street the next day after the concert, thinking about getting to his next lecture, when he passes by a hotel.

And, of course-- _because that's just Luke's goddamn luck--_ Michael is walking at that exact moment, arguing with his phone and holding a cup in his other hand.

 

Luke doesn't notice at first, and keeps walking, and Michael's practically storming and he's walking to fast, complaining into his phone, "I _know_ they're jerks, but _we need them--_ "

And then he hits Luke, and they both go toppling over, black coffee splashing all over Luke's favorite Blink 182 shirt as his head thumps against the pavement, and he groans in pain.

"Oh my god, I'm _so sorry--_ " the apology coming from above Luke is cut off with a strangled gasp.

Luke, because he's a _fucking idiot,_ doesn't even recognize the voice. His eyes are still shut against the cement, but he mumbles out, "Nah, it's probably my fault, I wasn't look--"

 _"Luke,_ _"_ the voice interrupts softly, and Luke's breath catches in his throat.

He glances up, and there he is.

Feathery locks of purple hair, and watery eyes and an expression stuck between concern, joy, and something much darker.

Luke swallows. "Oh," he says. "Shit."

 

 


End file.
